


Frosting

by bkwrm523



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:22:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5670751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bkwrm523/pseuds/bkwrm523
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and the reader have a disagreement about cookies, which Dean thinks the reader takes entirely too seriously.  The reader decides to prove her/his point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frosting

**Author's Note:**

> This was absolutely not my reaction to an actual news story about an actual coffee chain’s sugar cookies, and was totally not a scene I thought up on the spot about the goofiness of my objection to their cookies. I don’t know what could have given you that impression.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”  You tell Dean as he enters the room.  No context; just the middle of a thought you just had.  Dean pauses for a moment, thrown, before he quickly adapts.  This is a habit you have that you do with your friends, and Dean is getting used to it.

“What’s that?”  Dean asks, continuing to the far side of the motel room and rifling around in his duffel bag.  “Did you fold these?”  Dean demands suddenly, standing up and giving you a glare.

“No.  I thought about it, but I figured I might run into your underwear, and that’d just get weird.”  You reply easily.  “It’s about that coffee chain, green whazafuck?”  The name of the chain escapes you at the moment; both you and Dean constantly refuse Sam’s pleas to buy there, as their coffee is too overpriced.  You gesture at the news playing on the television as you speak.

“Yeah?”  Dean replies, easily reading your silence as you waiting to hear if he’s following.

“People are pissy about their holiday sugar cookies.  Apparently snowmen aren’t Christmas-y enough.”

“For crying out-” Dean’s back is to you, but you can hear his eyeroll.  “People take this crap way too seriously.”

“I mean, they’re _terrible_.”  You continue.  “If you’re that desperate for sugar cookies and can’t make them, the grocery store sells decent pre-made ones that taste _way_ better, and are a lot cheaper.  Surely _some_ of them are in Christmas tree shapes, or something.”  You are an odd personality, and have no shame of this.  So when Dean stands and turns to give you an amused, confused frown, you just smile brightly at him.  Dean’s mouth opens, looking suddenly hopeful, but quickly snaps shut.  You giggle.

“Yes, Dean.  I will make you some sugar cookies.”  You tell him.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything.”  Dean replies in a forced grumble.  You lob a muffin wrapper at his head.

“Stop complaining and say thank you.”

“Thanks.”  The words come with a laugh, reassuring you that you didn’t go too far.

***

The hunt had been finished, and now you were stuck back at the bunker with a broken leg.

Long story.

“Do you really need all this?”  Sam asks skeptically, glancing again at the list you’d given him and Dean of all the things you’d need from their grocery store run.  “Seems like a lot of batches of cookies.”

“I’m gonna eat a lot of the dough, anyway.”  You point out to Sam.  “And I’m confident you two will have no trouble helping me eat them.”  Sam chuckles at that.

“What’s the powdered sugar for?”  Dean asks curiously.  “Special ingredient?”

“That’s for the icing.”  You tell him.  “I need a lot of it, so get a big bag.”

“Wait, you’re going to _make_ icing?  Why don’t I just buy you a can of something?  Less work.”

“Dean.”  You say his name solemnly.  “I’m going to say this _once_ , so I need you to listen carefully.  If you bring that premade cement _crap_ anywhere near my cookies, I am going to resurrect Gabriel to help me dispose of said frosting in such a way that will give you diarrhea for no less than six months.  Understood?”  You don’t raise your voice, but it has a calm, level tone that lets them know you’re serious.  Dean and Sam exchange glances that show surprise at your level of enthusiasm for something as simple as frosting.

“Yes, ma’am.”  Dean finally replies aloud.

***

“Dean!”  You call without looking.  The cookies are done, and you’d tried to do an equal number of each of the three cookie cutters the boys had selected.  Sam had even brought you little M&Ms and licorice for decorating with.  A double batch of frosting had just finished mixing, and you had a feeling Dean would be sticking close by the kitchen in case you wanted any help taste testing things.  It sucked that you were stuck with one leg in a cast on Christmas Day, but at least you spent some of it baking cookies.  It was work, but fun work.

Sure enough, Dean appears in the kitchen doorway within a few seconds.

“Yeah?”  Dean asks you.

“Here.”  You turn towards him and start to walk over, a spoon held out in one hand.  “Taste this.”  Dean meets you halfway, takes the spoon, and gives it a dubious look before eating all the white frosting on it in one go.  His expression is cute and funny to watch; skeptical and nervous gradually gives way to amazement and _holy crap this is amazing_.  You don’t wait for him to reply verbally, his expression saying it all.  You smile at him.

“That’s why I didn’t want to use store bought icing.”  You tell Dean gently.  “The recipe is really easy, too.  Want to help me ice them?”  You ask him, turning around and walking back over to the mixing bowl.

“Definitely.”  Dean replies eagerly, following you over.

You and Dean have entirely too much fun icing and decorating the cookies.  One gingerbread man has a broken foot, and at Dean’s suggestion, you use licorice to give him crutches.  Dean coveres the foot in M&Ms to resemble a cast.  Sam definitely thought you were both nuts with how much effort you put into that one.  In the end, though, frosting and decorating the cookies was almost as much fun as eating them was, and brought out the child in Dean.  You smile, and quietly decide to consider it a Christmas present to him.  Not that you’d ever say anything to him, but the memory would warm you for some time to come.


End file.
